


Invitation to the Dance

by nostalgic_breton_girl



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: AnVil, F/M, first date ideas jump out of a window
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25446766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic_breton_girl/pseuds/nostalgic_breton_girl
Summary: The unconventional meeting of Corvus and Millona, when they both become bored of a ball and decide to escape.
Relationships: Corvus Umbranox/Millona Umbranox
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Invitation to the Dance

When the Count of Anvil held a ball, the invitations were rightly coveted among the Gold Coast nobility, its up-and-coming middle classes, and anyone with the conviction that they should have by now have come into immense wealth, but had missed it by a stroke of misfortune. These invitations were not given to these last people, of course, but they were liberally scattered among the former, such that Anvil Castle was that evening stacked with people, all of whom knew each other and exactly how much wealth the others possessed, and despite that tried to outdo each other spectacularly, in more areas than one.

When the Count of Anvil held a ball, in short, the Castle was chaos, the dress was absurd, the conversation infuriatingly affected: and Millona Pelagia, the eldest daughter of one of the grasping country lords, did not like it in the slightest.

She had been handed her third drink of the evening – which had scarcely begun – by a tight-lipped butler, and was considering pouring it into a pot-plant like the others, when she heard footsteps at her side, and turned to see a young man with the most ludicrous coat-tails, but an amusedly scathing glance towards those who wore the same, and something like mischief twinkling in his eye.

‘Capital evening,’ he commented, in a voice that said the opposite: ‘capital ball. Just splendid.’

‘You’re not enjoying yourself either, then,’ Millona ventured.

‘Where’s the fun in all this?’ he said with a laugh, ‘pretending you’re better than you are, drinking so much you actually want to dance in public, and talking to the most obnoxious of the obnoxious.’

‘It isn’t the worst thing in the world,’ Millona lied, ‘it’s just... a bit rowdy. I’m not sure I like this much company, I have only been to one of these balls once before.’

‘You’re the Pelagia, I believe.’

‘ _The_ Pelagia? No, that would be my father.’

She glanced about for him; and given what he had been wearing when last she saw him, it was perhaps for the best that she could not find him to point him out.

‘Oh! No, rather, I have heard about you.’

‘Nothing bad, I hope?’

‘Quite the opposite.’

Millona was not particularly surprised, all things considered: already in the noble circles, she was described as something of a relief after her father, and she could not quite disagree herself. Certainly she had made just enough of an impression to be noteworthy, but a demure enough one to be striking beside the flamboyant and disparaging Lord Pelagia.

But she was not one for talking about herself, and so politely asked who the young man was, and what was his standing.

‘Oh, I’m the Count’s son,’ he said.

‘His son!’ she said in astonishment: ‘Corvus Umbranox?’

‘At your service,’ he replied, and made a somewhat mockingly low bow, before sweeping her hand to his lips.

She knew he was jesting, she had caught the note of dislike with regards to his own title, but she could not help being charmed all of a sudden by the glint in his eye, and most particularly by the gentle kiss which he placed on the back of her hand.

‘You’ve heard of me, no doubt,’ he went on.

‘Certainly I have,’ she said: ‘you are quite the talk of the nobility, I think: you are quite different from the Count.’

‘Oh, I should hope so,’ he replied.

A tray filled with wine-glasses passed his nose; he took one, and offered another to Millona, who might have refused it, but who was so distracted by him that she did not notice until the glass was in her hand.

Distracted by him? – what had come over her?

‘Some people say you are unsuitable for the position of Count –’

‘Oh, I know,’ he murmured.

‘– but not for anything bad, or anything which _I_ find bad,’ she finished, quickly: ‘because you like to be among the people, of all classes, because you go round in common clothes and give your money to the beggars –’

‘Most people just say I’m naive and frivolous,’ he put in.

‘Oh! no, I don’t think that.’

‘How do you know I give money to beggars?’ he said suddenly.

‘Because the beggars told me so,’ replied Millona.

It was not a rumour which was put out about him: certainly it was not noble behaviour, and did not befit his class, but to openly _denounce_ him for giving money to the poor would have been a step too far, and even the nobility were aware of that.

But she watched him react to her words, smiled when he realised what she had said.

‘Do you know,’ he said: ‘I think I have seen you before in Anvil.’

‘I come down sometimes,’ she said: ‘I love to walk by the docks, and on the cliffs... It’s a beautiful city.’

‘Truly it is,’ Corvus murmured, and sipped from his drink, perhaps to disguise a sudden burst of proud sentimentality. ‘I am surprised I have not seen you often; I walk by the sea whenever I can. At sunset it is at its most spectacular.’

Millona fell to reminiscence about the city that she loved: and in this swathe of memories, she almost forgot the ball... the music, unpleasantly mingling with loud conversation, was for the moment replaced by the gentle swish of the waves, the crowing of a seagull; gone in her mind’s eye were the crowds of robes and made-up faces and startling hats, replaced by the softly burning vision of the city at sunset, the capricious silhouette of the castle and the cliffs against the glimmers of the sea...

‘Oh! it is,’ she sighed: ‘if only I were out there now, rather than trapped in here.’

‘You could leave,’ he said.

‘I am sure I would not be allowed. Someone would see me going, and tell Father, and I’d be brought back.’

‘I could smuggle you out.’

She stifled a laugh.

‘I live here, I know this castle. Last time I had to be at a ball...’ He hesitated, made sure only Millona might hear him: ‘I couldn’t get to the door, but I managed to get behind a curtain and jump out of the window.’

‘You did _what_?’

‘Couldn’t bear to be inside a moment longer. It isn’t too far to the ground. – You don’t believe me, do you.’

‘Oh, I believe you.’

‘Do you fancy jumping out of a window?’

She felt a bit giggly all of a sudden, and looked behind her; they were pressed against the wall almost, near to the curtain, and there was something very tempting about the sunlight which was trying its utmost to penetrate the heavy fabric. Then she looked back at Corvus, who was surveying the room, and decided that jumping out of a window with him to escape a ball would be the most marvellous thing in the world.

‘Can we do it without being seen?’

‘I know _I_ can... Wait until nobody is looking, and then get behind the curtain.’

She did so; and a moment later Corvus joined her.

‘Nobody has seen us,’ he said.

He reached over to the latch, fiddled a little; then, when it did not budge, he tapped his pocket, and felt within its depths before drawing out a small metal rod.

‘Locked,’ he said: ‘I’ll have that open in a moment –’

He stuck the rod into the keyhole, shifted it a bit; then there was a click, the latch lifted, and Millona studied him in surprise and admiration. He caught her looking, went a bit red, and pocketed the lockpick.

‘There,’ he said, peering out: ‘not too far down. Careful with your dress on the window-frame. Here – I’ll go first, then I can catch you if you need it.’

And in one swift movement he hoisted himself onto the frame, lifted his coat-tails to his waist, and held them in one hand; the other he planted upon the sill, and propelled himself out. When Millona dared to look out, she saw that he had landed as adroitly as the castle cat, and was beaming, willing her to follow him.

‘Oh!’ she said: ‘I’m coming,’ and she lifted her skirt a little, placed one foot and then the other out, and half-jumped, half-fell to the ground.

‘Someone will notice we are missing eventually,’ she said after a moment, taking the hand which Corvus had put out for her, though she did not actually need his assistance.

‘I’m sure they will,’ Corvus replied, and without quite realising laced his fingers around hers: ‘but they shan’t find us, and anyway, isn’t this worth getting caught for?’

‘Yes...’ Millona murmured.

The day was not yet gone, and the last light was always the most extraordinary: passionate flurries of colour, rebounding upon the gentle waves, and the quiet of the settling city, a nightingale in the woods, and a seagull far out. By day there were ships scurrying in and out, their bells clanging; now their masts and bells shook in the breeze, and then fell silent, a rise and fall like the breathing of the harbour.

‘I love Anvil,’ said Millona: ‘it’s the most wonderful city in Cyrodiil.’

‘I shall be Count of it, one day,’ Corvus considered: ‘and I don’t know if I want the title, but I think I shall be proud nonetheless.’

He regarded the sunset for a few moments more, did not realise that he was still holding Millona’s hand: a fact which she did not protest. Oh! how nice it was, to be out here, to breathe the salty air, and to be with this most _unusual_ man –

‘I am sure you will,’ she said: ‘I would be proud to be Countess of Anvil.’

‘Well, _that’s_ a bit forward,’ he laughed, with sparkling eyes.

‘Oh!’ she cried: ‘oh, no, I didn’t mean – no –’

‘I'm sure I wouldn’t complain about that either,’ he went on, and grinned. ‘But truly, Millona, I think I shall be charmed by more of your company, if nothing else. We shall have a walk this evening; and I think we shall have to meet again, soon after –’

‘I’d like that,’ she said.

‘Capital,’ he replied, quite honestly this time, and taking her arm walked her into the sunset.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from carl maria von weber's pretty little piece 'invitation to the dance' ('Aufforderung zum Tanz')


End file.
